I am continually surrounded by women that continue to exceed my expectations. We have raised over $1,900 for legal fees in less than 8 hours! That is amazing. I’ll be posting here, on our blog, about our progress – as well as I will post updates with payments made to our attorneys (as proof of payments).

Unfortunately my attorney has advised me I cannot speak about … well… pretty much anything regarding legal matters going forward. This is difficult for me as I am a very open person.

In place of giving legal updates, I’m going to give two pieces of advice I’ve learned along this journey:

1) Get everything in writing. Get back up copies. Save everything.

2) Don’t make major communications via telephone, unless you record the conversations

In regards to advice #2, I’ve decided to have a recorded greeting play before I answer the telephone. It will say, “This call may be recorded for legal purposes.”

Moxie’s Expose, the first 4 sections (er, Chapters) are available by using the Widget control in the upper right hand corner of this blog. I will not be publicly posting any additional completed chapters… since I’ve agreed to give copies away to those that donate(d). I don’t want to give out any spoilers!

I expect to actually complete the story within the next week or so, I am very close to wrapping it up. Because it contains information my attorney probably doesn’t want published at this time, I’ll need to hold back the release until our legal case is resolved.

I wanted to send some thank-you’s out into the world:

First and Foremost: I want to thank my admins. Nisha, Katie, Andrea & Lisa. You are four of the strongest women I have ever known. I am so proud to call you all my friends. You have supported Moxie through its trials & tribulations and I have faith that the 5 of us will see this endeavor into its next stages! If you don’t know the admins of Moxie, you should get to know them. They are four of the brightest, most courageous people to ever walk this earth.

Secondly: I want to thank the women of our group. All the beautiful women that have sent their well wishes, cards, flowers and have donated. You all are amazing. You are kind, you are thoughtful and you are generous in your [emotional] support.

Lastly (But not Least): I want to thank some people that have helped support me throughout this horrible turn of events in the form of a listening ear; Audrey, NBS, MM, Stephanie (both of you!), MConn (for unknowingly help me sort through some things initially) and mostly to Katie (for being my sounding board).

Anyone who says they have only one life to live must not know how to read a book.

–Author Unknown

I’ve published the next chapter in Moxie’s expose. I am very much appreciating the feedback I have gotten so far. I’ve written quite a few books up to this point, but none ever saw the light of day and they definitely weren’t published in an open forum.

When I was younger I kept journals. Typically ruled notebooks in varying colors. I still have every one of them. They fill an entire suitcase. Writing is cathartic for me. This is the reason, before starting Moxie, I routinely posted on Facebook. Placing your thoughts and emotions into words gets them out into the world. It validates them and makes them feel more real.

Since Moxie I have cut back on the amount I post on Facebook. As a business owner in the public eye, it’s difficult to have your own opinion. If your opinion doesn’t align with that of a particular customer you risk losing them. Political posts, religious posts… anything but photos of my children are now off limits.

I stopped journaling quite a few years ago. In it’s place I took up writing stories, both fictional and non-fictional. Moxie’s Expose is the very first piece of work that has sprung from the cobwebs of my mind to the world wide web. I hope you enjoy it. It IS a continued work in progress.

I’ve repeatedly spoken to my group about a book I’ve been working on. An expose’ of the fashion industry. I’ve attempted to write this book quite a few times over the past six months. Each time it’s different. First person. Third person. Fiction. Non-Fiction.

I’ve finally settled on a hybrid. A mix of both fiction and non-fiction.

I’ve posted the first two chapters in the “Untitled Expose” section of this blog. There are currently 14 chapters completed, which I will post over the next few weeks.

Consider this a disclaimer: It is NOT what you expect.

I’ve always wanted to dedicate a book. Those first two pages of the book are so powerful. Title page and then a mostly blank page with just a few words that usually start with: This book is dedicated to…

So here’s my dedication:

This book is dedicated to those that have wronged us. It is fiction. Or is it?

“Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.” — Albert Camus

Friendship is a funny thing. It can be fickle. It can be steadfast. It comes and goes in waves. When I was in high-school I remember the saying “the friends you make in school will be those you remember.” The same for college. And then after college, too.

Many moons ago, I was pregnant with my first child. My boyfriend (now husband) and I lived in different states. When I announced to my friends that I was pregnant most of their replies were, “What?! You can’t go party with us anymore?”

Yeah, my friends were assholes.

Needless to say I spent a majority of my first pregnancy alone. And when I say alone, I mean ALONE. I had a roommate that was away most of the day. I had one singular best-friend that stood by me and I had parents that lived 3 hours away. So, I woke up pregnant and alone. And I went to bed, pregnant and alone. I was self employed at the time and I spent the majority of my entire pregnancy chowing down on Doritos and watching reruns of Charmed.

Because of this, I resented (and I use that term mildly) the baby that was growing in my belly. I resented what she’d done to my life. How much it had changed. Looking back, I know it was NEVER her fault. I’m the one that had unprotected sex. I’m the one that spent my mid-twenties partying, getting drunk and just generally hanging out with whomever had the “in” at the local club. It was MY fault I hadn’t cultivated steadfast relationships. It was MY fault I’d moved 8 times by the time was 25.

[I have a point, I promise.]

I read as many articles as I could get my hands on that explained why I felt the way I did about my unborn child. I joined chat groups where other pregnant women spoke about the same feelings they had. I guess, in a way, I wasn’t truly alone because I had those women in my life. But I certainly felt alone.

It wasn’t until the moment that they handed me my baby girl, all 6 lbs 14 oz of her… It wasn’t until that moment, directly after birth, when they laid her – goop covered and all – on my belly and she stared at me with those wide eyes that I stopped resenting. It was that moment my heart became so full of something I couldn’t explain.

That image of her, tiny with those wide eyes will be forever be burned into my memory. I remember reaching out to her, wanting to touch her but afraid that I couldn’t. I was afraid that I wasn’t supposed to touch my own child. How silly is that?

I was so much in awe of her, of life, of those doctors and nurses. That resentment and loneliness I spoke of earlier? I didn’t remember one moment of it. I can barely remember it now.

But, I can still count on one hand the amount of people I consider my friends. At least, that’s what I thought until a few days ago.

I grew up in the age of “Internet Friends”. It wasn’t uncommon to meet random people in a chat room and consider them a friend. During high school I knew people by their AIM handles. My dad used to have to shut the router down every night, otherwise I’d spend all my waking hours (and those I should’ve spent sleeping) chatting online.

Looking back, I’m wondering how I made it through the “Internet Friends” age without getting abducted and held hostage. I routinely met people off the internet, IRL (in real life). I even held online relationships with older men (*gasp!*).

[For those that remember…. A/S/L]

Throughout this time, though, I always counted on one hand my “Internet Friends” and on the other my “IRL Friends”. The two never crossed. I never considered them one and the same.

You know how to tell who your real friends are? Put yourself in the shittiest, worst, most unimaginable situation possible and see who comes to your aid. See who sticks up for you. Take note of who sends warm wishes, their thoughts, offers to pray. It may not seem like much, but when your options are limited, even a photo of someone toasting to you means more than anyone could ever know.

Over the past 60 days I’ve been repeatedly told not to go public. My attorney feared for my customer backlash. My group administrators feared people would leave, that I’d be seen in a negative light. My mother-in-law feared for my emotional stability.

Since going public with details about our dispute I’ve learned a very real lesson. That we have misjudged every single person in our group. We don’t have a group of women who come here for clothing and leave with a lighter wallet. Yes, they buy stuff. But that’s not what runs us. You know what runs us? The MOXIE that every woman in this group has.

You know who you don’t mess with? You don’t mess with 2,000 women who are mothers, sisters, wives, friends, daughters. You don’t mess with US. There is something that the people who screwed Moxie underestimated. There is something that they didn’t understand. And that is that we are more than a group that buys, sells and trades clothing. We are a community of women that have each others backs.

I am honored to be wrong. I am relieved to be wrong. I am happy to say that I can NOT count on both of my hands the amount of friends that I have. These are not “Internet Friends”. These are sisters, comrades and “IRL Friends”. All 2,242 of you. My heart is so full, yet again.

Ok, I’m not officially a felon – but yesterday I was charged with a second degree felony. And the clincher is, I’m innocent.

For the past 60 days I’ve been living a nightmare that you only read about in books or see on daytime crime show dramas. Yesterday, I hit a new low. Yesterday morning I received a telephone call that would change my perspective of the entire legal system.

An unassuming telephone call from the same area code that you live in. No big deal, right? I wasn’t even surprised to hear the voice of the detective that had visited my warehouse just a few short weeks ago. What I was surprised to hear was that I was being charged in a criminal complaint by the State of New Jersey. I was even more surprised to hear that if I didn’t come down to the station to “turn myself in”, be fingerprinted and have my mug shot taken.. that they’d send a warrant for my arrest.

My first call after hanging up was to my attorney. Would he meet me there? Would I spend time in jail? What the ever-loving F was going on?

My second call was en-route to the police station. It lasted 20 total seconds. I informed my husband I was being charged with a crime and that I was going to the police station. My husband wasn’t surprised. He’s a pessimist. He may have even assumed the people our dispute is with would stoop this low. My husband is a saint, in his own way. He knows, when dealing with me, it’s better to say as little as possible.

The drive to the police station didn’t take nearly long enough. I even stopped to pick up a pack of gum at the gas station down the street. I’d left the house in such a rush that I’d forgotten to brush my teeth. Leave it to me to worry about my dental health. I’m being charged with a felony and all I care about is whether I smell like last night’s garlic dinner.

The process of being charged, served and printed isn’t nearly as nerve wracking as they make it seem on television. We waited, what felt like hours, in the main lobby of the police station. It was really only fifteen minutes or so. I kind of enjoyed my time in the lobby. Quite a few officers came and went while I was there and let me tell you… the Saddle Brook, NJ police department has their fare share of eye-candy on duty.

By the time the officer came to lead me to the processing room I was probably envisioning hand cuffs and cavity searches by muscled uniform men. One in particular walked by and I might’ve gotten a bit faint. (Yeah, I’m talking about you, MR Tall, Dark & Tatooed.) I love my husband, I do. But that doesn’t mean my imagination is on a leash, too.

I was led to the bowels of the police station. Actually, it was just the basement. It was clean, bright and had twisty hallways that I didn’t venture down. The officer led me to a room where I sat on a chair and answered questions about myself. My height? My weight? My eye color?

I was fingerprinted. It’s not like in the movies. They don’t use paper and black ink anymore. They use a scanner and the officer moves your fingers for you. I sweated the entire time. We had to keep taking a break so the officer could ask me to wipe my hands on my shirt. At one point I was asked if I wanted a towel. I apologized over and over for sweating on him. He took it in stride. By the time he was finished fingerprinting me his hands were sticky as well. The poor guy. He’s probably still talking about the profusely sweating girl that took twenty minutes to fingerprint because she was so sticky.

After finger printing they took my mug shot. I even got to hold the sign with numbers! That part is exactly like you see in the movies. “Don’t Smile” “Look directly at the camera” “Turn to the door”

Unfortunately, they only mug shot the right side of your face. The right side of my face is my bad side.

At one point I was asked if I was in a gang. It was during the “questions about myself” portion. I jokingly asked if my children were considered a gang. I do that. Crack jokes when I’m nervous. They took my joke in complete stride. They laughed, asked how old my children were.

The entire time I was NOT treated as if I was a criminal and for that, I am thankful.

After printing and processing, I was led back upstairs to the interview room where I was asked a few more questions about myself and was officially “served” with my court date papers. At this point I didn’t know that I’d been officially arrested. I dunno, I guess I was in shock. So when I was handed a paper that said I was out on “bail” and that if I didn’t appear in court all sorts of bad things would happen… well, I kind of went a bit wacky. I said to the officer, “Wait, I’ve been arrested?” To which he replied, “Yes, technically. But it’s not like in the movies.”

Here’s where my ‘crack-jokes-inappropriately’ kicks in and I say, “damn, really? I was hoping to be handcuffed.” And then, my dumb ass winks, WINKS at the officer sitting across from me. He thought it was funny… my attorney did not. The poor guy, button-down old school type he is, pales drastically and clears his throat loudly before saying, “No. Jackie, no you don’t.”

If my attorney tweets he probably immediately tweeted something like “Client just ASKED to be handcuffed. #FACEPALM”

That’s it. After answering questions about myself, I was released. I was released to the general public. Watch out world, Jackie is a criminal and I’m walking the streets free. Well, free until my court date in two weeks. And I can’t leave the state. Damn. There goes my plans to run away to Mexico.

I’d like to thank the Saddle Brook Police Department for treating me nicely. For making this process as painless as is possible. I’d also like to thank them for hiring such good looking officers onto the force. If a girl’s going to spend her morning being charged with a felony, at least she gets to spend it in the presence of what is possibly the world’s finest specimens to wear a uniform.